


Eat You Up

by starstruck1986



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Age Difference, Community: hp_crossgenfest, Consent Issues, Dom/sub Undertones, Gangbang, M/M, Sexual Coercion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-03
Updated: 2016-08-03
Packaged: 2018-07-24 14:42:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7512208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starstruck1986/pseuds/starstruck1986
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Too much, far too young.  There is a reason he never has a partner.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Eat You Up

**Author's Note:**

> I’m not normally a big Lucius fan, so it surprised me when I picked this. Thanks to the author for a great prompt, and my beta S.

I remember the first time I saw him. I was nine. My dad had my hand in his to keep track of me in the throng and we were leaving the Ministry after a hard day of me sitting at his desk, pretending to be busy and important. He was laughing at something I'd said and suddenly he just fell quiet. When I looked up at him it was the first time I had ever seen him look anything other than the kind and placid man he had always been.

He was furious and I had to follow his line of sight to see just what had made him change so completely.

I saw a man with the lightest hair I'd ever seen outside of my granddad, who had the shining white hair of old age. It was nothing like what I saw in the Ministry that day – Lucius Malfoy stood out against the green tiles of the atrium. I remember thinking that he looked like an angel. I knew what angels were because Dad got his love of Muggle stuff from his own mother, who collected Muggle religious figurines for no reason other than she could.

He was pale and had light grey eyes. He was mesmerising and I couldn't for the life of me figure out why my dad was glaring at him.

The angel glanced at me then, and those eyes, so piercing and captivating, met mine. They held my stare for just for a second before they flicked up and saw my dad, and then the beautiful face twisted into a sneer.

Before he could say anything, my dad tugged me away.

“Who was that?” I remember asking.  
“Lucius Malfoy.”  
“Who's he?”

My dad waited a while before replying, but as he scooped up some Floo Powder to take us home, he said, “Someone you should never waste your time on. He's... he's not a good person.”

I remember being shocked. How could that beautiful man be bad?

It wasn't the last time I'd mistake beauty for being decent, and I never did learn from my mistakes.

* * *

**June 1990**

“Don't!” Charlie cried, throwing his hands up. “Don't kill him.”  
“He's a runt. We'll never sell him.”  
“You don't have to, I'll take him home and he can live with us.”

Heart thumping, Charlie knew his face was red. And that potentially he could lose his summer job for speaking up against his boss. But the man had the kitten by the scruff of its neck and it was mewling and wriggling pathetically. It made him sick to think that anyone would kill an animal just because it wasn't pretty enough to sell.

“Please?” He implored.

There was a loud sigh and the kitten was foisted into his arms. “You've been here for two weeks, Weasley, and you're already taking something home. I don't want your mother in here creating, you hear me?”  
“She won't,” Charlie promised, gently smoothing his fingers over the cat's neck in case it had been hurt.

By the time his mum found out, he and the cat would be so attached to one another there'd be no point in arguing about it. It had been that way with the guinea pigs, the rats, the other cat and the brief stay of a three-legged dog before it had gone to live with a lonely local man who needed something to dote on.

“Well, she'd better not. You can use one of the cages in the back for him until you finish this afternoon. Then get back out here and clean out the rats.”

Charlie couldn't help but grin to himself as his boss turned away, muttering to himself. In his hands the kitten had stopped mewling and was nuzzling against his fingers. Charlie lifted it up and inhaled the soft, powdery smell of the cat's fur.

“How beautiful.”

Charlie froze with the kitten still raised to his nose. The voice which had spoken was like silk. He looked up and met the grey eyes of Lucius Malfoy. He stood there imperiously, one hand on a silver-topped cane. His robes were more expensive and finer than Charlie had ever laid eyes on. His white-blond hair dripped over his shoulders.

“They said he was a runt,” Charlie said thickly.  
“I wasn't talking about the cat.” Lucius smiled at him. “Though, in your hands, it is rather more beautiful than it would be out.”

Throat suddenly hot, Charlie had no answer for that.

“Aren't you a little young to be working?” Lucius asked.  
“I need work experience for next year.” He went on at the quirk of the older man's eyebrows in question. “I'm going to Romania to work with dragons, but they want job experience before they’ll let me in.”  
“Dragons? Goodness.”

Charlie shrugged and started stroking the kitten again for something to do.

“Oi! Those rats aren't going to clean themselves!” his boss hollered, making him jump and nearly drop the cat.  
“I'll let you get on... I don't believe I know your name?”  
“Charlie.”  
“Weasley, I presume?”  
“How did you-”  
“The hair.” Lucius waved an unconcerned hand. “Always the hair.”  
“Oh.”

Suddenly Lucius was looking at him with unnerving intensity. A shiver passed through Charlie's body.

“Well. Good day to you, Charlie Weasley.”

With a stiff bow and a smile, Lucius left the shop, his hair streaming behind him.

Charlie didn't know why he watched his retreating back, but he did.

***

Two weeks and two more kittens later, Charlie shoved his hair out of his eyes. The summer had risen to an unbearable temperature and the city practically hummed with heat, sweat and the stench of ripe bodies. He glanced at the watch his parents had given him when he turned seventeen the December before – just twenty more minutes and he'd be free to go home and stand under the shower until someone yelled to get into the bathroom.

He sprayed down the counter with some disinfectant and wiped the glass until the smears and streaks faded away. He gave the till a good spritz and cleaned that too, hoping if he looked busy enough his boss wouldn't give him anything else to do so close to closing time. It wouldn't be the first time he'd been forced to stay afterwards on the whim of his slightly vindictive employer who was enjoying having cheap slave labour.

Charlie heard the bell tinkle as the door open and had to bite back his groan of frustration.

He was done with dealing with rude customers and people he absolutely didn't want to sell a living creature to. They were clearly incompetent and half of them were only purchasing to shut their kids up.

Lucius Malfoy appeared from the brightness of the open door and approached the till. Charlie glanced around but there was nobody else to be seen – he would have to deal with him. In the three weeks since their first encounter, it seemed Malfoy had continually been finding reasons to come into the shop. They might have been genuine, but Charlie suspected otherwise because the man always sought him out rather than anyone else who worked in the Menagerie.

He would never admit to anyone that it thrilled him, and if he had the chance he would always check his appearance in the nearest glass before speaking. However, that day he knew there was no point – he was cooked and frazzled in more than just mind. His hair had doubled in size in the humidity.

“Good evening. Do you ever leave?” Lucius asked, clearly amused.  
“Seems not.” Charlie dropped the rag he was holding and wiped his clammy palms on his apron. “How can I help you?”

There, during the steady dip of grey eyes down his body. Charlie's skin started to tingle. 

“It is my son's birthday today. I would like to purchase a gift for him.”  
“Oh. I see.”  
“You disapprove?” Lucius laughed. “Why?”

Charlie blinked a couple of times, deciding how to answer. He needed to know if his boss was in earshot. He glanced over his shoulder and couldn't see him in the back, but he'd been known to purposefully hide before.

“I don't think giving animals as presents is a good idea, really.”  
“And why would that be?”  
“It's a lot to give, a little life which depends on you and that you have to feed and take care of.”

Lucius hummed slightly and said, “Well, my son isn't a particularly caring child. Perhaps you are right.”

Charlie smiled uneasily in response.

“I shall think on it further,” Lucius decided. “Good evening again, Charlie.”

He strode back to the door and pulled it open, the bell tinkling. Charlie, as usual, watched him go.

As he pulled the door shut behind him, he winked at Charlie, wearing a filthy smile.

“Fucking great,” Charlie whispered to himself, as the blond wizard disappeared.

He swallowed and reached down to try and reposition his crotch under his apron. Somewhere along the line, his attraction to Lucius Malfoy had blossomed into something of an infatuation. Charlie briefly allowed himself to recall a few desperate solo sessions he'd had whilst thinking of him. Lucius was too old for him, and nothing would ever happen, but thinking was free.

Plus, it had pretty much confirmed what Charlie had suspected for a good few years. He was neither exclusively hetero or homosexual: he was attracted to both sexes. He'd had a few girlfriends at school but for the next school year, perhaps, he'd look for a boy to experiment with. He wanted to know what he was before he went to Romania, at any rate – as much as he could know.

Stamping and huffing heralded the arrival of his boss before he actually appeared and Charlie braced himself for an earbashing. Whether his boss was just generally unpleasant or specifically didn't like him, Charlie couldn't tell. It was hard to take because everybody generally liked him and Charlie liked pleasing people.

“God, I feel like I'm being boiled alive in a cauldron!” His boss made a show of pulling his robes away from his body. “Even with the cooling spell.”

Charlie nodded in sympathy. He didn't want to say anything to provoke wrath or sudden jobs.

“Go on, get out of here. That counter can't get much cleaner, anyway.”  
“Eh?” Charlie asked, dismayed.  
“Go home! I'm going home. Can't bear to be in this bloody shop a moment longer. Unless you want to stay?”  
“I'm going,” Charlie promised automatically.

He stripped off his apron and hung it up. He patted for his wand and picked up his bag.

“See you in the morning.” His boss turned on his heel and walked away.

Dismissed, Charlie practically skipped to the door of the shop and threw himself out into the sunshine. Given the time of year, the sun was still fairly high in the hazy sky, and the warmth hadn't yet dropped. There was no breeze to find in the air, and all around him the Alley showed signs of winding down early. He could hear lazy chatter and the sounds of cutlery and plates clinking from various restaurants and cafes.

He caught sight of the Ice Cream Parlour and immediately knew where he was going. He had enough change for a medium sundae with chocolate ice cream, caramel sauce and chopped hazelnuts on top – his absolute favourite. His brothers and sister would never have to know about the rare treat he'd scooped without having to share. They were all at home, doing Merlin-only-knew what, and he had the chance of some extra time alone before travelling home to face them all.

He ordered, sparing a cheeky grin for the girl with blue hair and a nose piercing who took his money and went to prepare his ice cream. She was pretty, and he was sure he'd seen the flash of a tattoo on her skin as she'd handed him his change. Instead of thinking something lewd about her, as he'd done in the past, he found himself comparing his attraction to her to his feelings about Lucius Malfoy.

He didn't smile at her again when she pushed the sundae glass across to him, filled rather more generously than it would usually have been. Her face fell when he simply picked it up, said thank you, and turned to find a seat.

Charlie chose one out under the big parasols in front of the parlour, creating a large patch of shade. He might have more freckles than the rest of his siblings but he still got sunburnt easily. He dropped down into a metal chair and let his bag fall off his shoulder.

The first mouthful of ice cream across his tongue was heavenly. He was suddenly ravenous and had to fight the urge to inhale it all. If he ate it too quickly it would be over, and he'd have to go home to the clamouring noise of The Burrow. The Alley was pleasantly quiet. The cooling spell of the Parlour was creeping out towards where he sat. He leant back in his seat and resolved to eat very, very slowly.

It wasn't that he didn't love his family, but they were a lot to handle and Bill was busy getting ready to leave for Egypt. In other words, Bill was too busy to spend any significant amount of time with him - or at least that was how Charlie felt. He hated that soon they would be in separate countries. As much as his other friends teased him for it, his only older brother was truly one of his best friends.

Appetite quashed by the depressing thought of being the oldest child at home, Charlie stuck his spoon in his sundae and left it there for a bit, using his tongue to wipe away the remnants which clung to his tongue and gums.

“Such a glum face.” Charlie froze. “If I was eating that, I think I'd look a little happier, Charlie. Is something wrong?”

Lucius stood in front of him out in the sunshine, his hair a glorious blaze of light which made Charlie's eyes ache after a dark day in the Menagerie.

“Nothing's wrong,” Charlie said thickly, hoping he didn't have ice cream around his mouth. “Just relieved to be finished for the day. That doesn't always look happy.”  
“No, I suppose it doesn't.”

The wizard held two posh-looking carrier bags, but he made his way through the empty chairs and gestured to one at Charlie's table. “May I?”  
“Sure, if you want.” Charlie shrugged and pulled the spoon out.

He started sucking it clean before he realised that Lucius was watching him, his eyes narrowed with intent. Charlie took the spoon out of his mouth and tried hard not to blush. Lucius let out a gentle laugh and shook his head.

“Don't stop on my account.”  
“Were you enjoying the view?” Charlie wanted to kick himself. His quick mouth always got him into trouble.  
“If I said I was?”

Charlie answered by scooping up some ice cream, sauce and chopped nuts and putting it in his mouth. He had no idea if he looked seductive, but he blinked once and slowly slid the spoon out from his mouth.

Lucius shifted in his seat, his lips parted. Charlie assumed whatever he looked like, it was good, based on the older wizard's reaction.

“Would you like some?” Charlie offered. He wasn't sure what or who was possessing him as he dug out another spoonful and leant over, offering it to the man's mouth by hand.

Lucius held his gaze as he leant forward, opened his perfect lips, and closed them around the spoon.

The thought of their saliva mixing and having his hand so close to Lucius' face caused something to start throbbing in Charlie's lap. Eventually he pulled his arm back and set the spoon down on the table. Lucius leant forward, so that he could talk quietly without anybody overhearing.

“I would take that ice cream, strip you naked and smear it all over your body.” He looked away as he continued in his low, measured tone, “And then I would lick every inch of you clean, and start again. I would eat you up, Charlie Weasley.”

Charlie gasped as a hand settled on his knee beneath the table and squeezed. The fingers were long with neat, manicured nails. They were surprisingly strong.

Somewhere, he thought, alarm bells should be ringing. He was seventeen years old and the man touching his leg was several years his senior. He was inexperienced and nervous and knew nothing of Lucius Malfoy, other than that his father loathed him and he had a slimy reputation.

But there were no alarm bells. He covered the pale hand with his own freckled one and settled it there. Lucius turned back to him.

“Might I suggest we continue this somewhere private?”  
“Where?” His voice croaked with the question.  
“I have somewhere.”  
“Where?” Charlie repeated dumbly.

Lucius didn't answer verbally, but got to his feet and looked down at Charlie expectantly. Without another thought he grabbed his bag and left his ice cream melting as he followed the blond back into the sunlight. They walked a little way further down Diagon Alley before Lucius turned right into the cool shelter of Knockturn Alley.

Charlie froze, glancing up at the filthy sign. His parents had always warned him to stay away from Knockturn.

Thinking that his parents would have conniptions about everything that had happened since he had left work, Charlie chose to poke their warnings to the back of his mind. 

“Good boy,” Lucius teased, gesturing Charlie forward. “Welcome to the Dark Side. Keep your eyes down and stay close and you'll be fine, you're with me.”

It probably shouldn't, Charlie thought, but that _did_ make him feel better. They walked under an archway and Lucius led the way to a door which had peeling paint and litter around the steps; the knocker and letterbox had been torn off. Lucius pressed the palm of his hand flat against the wood for a few seconds and it opened with a loud creak.

As he stepped over the threshold, Charlie considered that he should have been running in the opposite direction. He didn't understand why he wasn't. 

Lucius led him up dusty stairs cluttered with unopened post to another door, and through there was a small but relatively clean flat with a bed, a tiny kitchen and a sofa, all of which were in far better repair than the outside of the building. Charlie stood nervously clutching the strap of his bag as Lucius shed his outer cloak and crossed the room to open the windows.

“The bathroom is just through there,” Lucius waved half-heartedly at a door to the right of the bed.  
“I'm fine.” Charlie put his bag down.

When it came to it, he had no idea how to be alone with a wizard twice his age. 

“Stop worrying. There's no need. We both know why we're here.”  
“Do we?” Charlie tried out a joke. “I'm a bit hazy to be honest.”

Lucius stared at him. “Take your clothes off.”  
“Make me.”  
“You really don't want to issue that sort of challenge with me, Weasley.” Lucius approached him. “Because I can be very, very demanding when I want to be.”

Charlie had to bite back his retort to that. Even if his usual levels of self-preservation seemed to have dipped to nothing, he wasn't entirely stupid.

Lucius stopped in front of him and reached forward to try and undo Charlie's jeans. He jumped with surprise. Lucius stared at him again, the unnerving stare of a man starting to lose patience.

“If you are not serious about this, get out now.”  
“I am.”  
“Are you sure?”

Charlie nodded, and the next thing he knew the air had been knocked out of his lungs. Lucius had slammed him backwards into the wall and pain prickled across his shoulders.

“So tense,” Lucius murmured, ghosting his lips down one side of Charlie's throat.

The fingers resumed their job of working open his jeans. He couldn't help but hold his breath until he felt the first brush of fingertips over his underwear. There was no pause to comment – Lucius simply took him in hand and pumped his cock.

Charlie was no stranger to masturbation. In fact, if anyone asked, he was seriously tempted to list it as one of his favourite hobbies. It was nothing compared to having that large hand work him, though. Lucius sped up the pace.

Without realising it, Charlie leant forward, his lips puckered. It seemed natural that in a moment such as that, they might kiss. His eyes flew open when Lucius laughed at him.

“I have absolutely no desire to kiss you, Weasley. Be sure of that. We will not be kissing one another.”  
“Oh.”  
“I want to fuck you,” Lucius said with emphasis. “Hard. That's all I want from you. Sex. This delicious, nubile body of yours...” The wizard suddenly gripped hard with his hand and Charlie let out a little gasp of shock.

He wondered why he'd thought there'd be anything else. Perhaps it was the way Lucius had taken the time to flirt with him over the past few weeks. Perhaps it was just his fancy running away with him. Either way, he felt somewhat mortified.

“You can still leave,” Lucius offered, sensing his reticence. “I won't hold it against you.”  
“I don't want to go.”  
“Last chance. I'm not saying it again. Go now, or you'll be had, and wrung dry. Do you understand me?”

Charlie held his breath and nodded.

* * *

He had me more than once that night. I remember feeling so alive as he fucked me, as he made me cry out streams of babble and sobs of pleasure. Then there were the sobs of pain as he pulled me over his lap and laid into my backside, for no reason other than he could. When I was laying there, eyes streaming with pain and shame and the thrill of it all, he pulled my cheeks apart and spat on my hole.

I can still _feel_ that like it was yesterday. 

And not once did he break his rule – he didn't kiss me, he didn't even touch me particularly tenderly. But I didn't want to see that.

To me it seemed inevitable that emotion and tenderness would follow. I suppose that's why I went back, time after time, to that little flat in Knockturn Alley – searching for love from a man who, as I now know, was incapable of loving me. Not because he couldn't – he loved his wife and his son well enough – but because he didn't _want_ to love me, he just wanted sex with a seventeen year old boy, who was too stupid to see that he was being used.

* * *

**July, 1990**

Charlie lay on his bed, holding his cigarette up to the open window above so that the smoke would drift out and their mum would never know. Bill was staring hopelessly at the suitcase he was meant to be packing for Egypt but didn't know where to start.

Opening his mouth to say something he shouldn't, Charlie was interrupted by a knock on the door. He didn't have time to chuck his cigarette out of the window before their dad let himself into their bedroom.

He sighed and shook his head when he saw Charlie smoking. “Don't let your mother see that,” was all he advised. “Bill, mum wants you to go and help her with something.”  
“I'm busy.”  
“She was quite insistent. You don't want to upset her just before you go, she's the queen of the silent treatment.”

They all knew he was right. Bill muttered under his breath as he left the room, closing the door behind him. Charlie shifted his legs over so that his dad could sit down next to him, which he did.

“Charlie, I need to talk to you.”  
“Mm?”

He was too blissed out for any sort of conversation. He'd seen Lucius after work and they'd had filthy oral sex for best part of the early evening. He shivered remembering it. His hands tied above his head whilst Lucius sucked bruises all over his inner thighs. Keening when he was teased for what felt like hours. Crying out when fingers entered him and nudged _that_ spot over and over, until he was coming hard into Lucius' waiting mouth.

“I heard something today which... got me worried.” His dad put his hands together. “And I don't know if it's true or not.”  
“Spit it out, Dad, what's the matter?” Charlie could feel his impatience rising – all he wanted to do was shove his hand into his pants and have a wank with his memories.

“I have a friend in the Auror department. He patrols regularly down Knockturn Alley.”

Faintly, far off in the distance of his randy, hormone-muddled mind, alarm bells started to sound. It was good to know they could still ring at all, given their remarkable silence over the past few weeks.

“And he pulled me aside this morning that he saw you following Lucius Malfoy into a seedy little flat down there. I said he must have been mistaken.”

Charlie waited, heart starting to thud hard.

“He said he was sure. And that you'd not come out for a long time.”

Still, Charlie said nothing. He felt slightly sick.

“Charlie, tell me the truth.”  
“It wasn't me. I've never even spoken to the bloke.” He forced himself to sit up and give what he hoped was a nonchalant shrug. “And why would I do that? He's a wank-”

His dad held up a hand to silence him and got up. “Okay. Do you promise me, Charlie?”

They stared at one another for a moment.

“I promise, Dad. It wasn't me.”

* * *

So that was the first of a series of lies. The others all related to where I was, what I'd been doing in the hours between leaving the Menagerie and getting home to The Burrow. I made up bumping into friends, being given overtime, being forced to stay behind for being rubbish, being forced to stay behind for being good, getting caught up in the rain. You name it, I probably said it over those next few weeks. One night I even managed to stay out till midnight under the guise of a sit-in vigil with a poorly Krup puppy.

What I didn't see was that my lies were hiding a progressively worsening array of sexually-gained injuries. That Lucius was, as I now know, taking advantage of my eagerness to please and my teenage lust.

I was lying to everybody – my parents, my brothers and sister, myself. I even missed getting to say goodbye to Bill because I was with Lucius in Knockturn when his Portkey to Egypt rolled around. I told myself it was fine, I'd see him in a couple of months anyway. I realised much later that I was punishing both myself and Bill by having Lucius fuck me that night instead of saying goodbye to my best friend.

In all, I had turned into a conniving little shit, prepared to lie to my family for what would turn out to be one of the biggest mistakes of my life.

I still haven't learnt. I never will.

* * *

**Late August, 1990**

Charlie didn't know what to do. Everything ached – the sort of gnawing, deep-seated pain which no painkiller was likely to touch in a safe dose. With shaking fingers he tried to steady himself against the kitchen table. The Burrow was in darkness, everyone else was fast asleep above him and, for the first time, Charlie wished he was too. Tucked up, innocent. Clean.

He was not clean and most definitely not innocent. Lucius had mentioned a few times he'd like to introduce Charlie to 'some friends'. In his maddest nightmares, Charlie hadn't imagined what had turned out to be the truth of what Lucius meant by an 'introduction'.

He remembered six men. There might have been more. His memories and mind were so fuzzy. They'd plied him with drink to get him to loosen up – when that didn't work they'd manhandled him into taking something they'd called 'Euphoria'. Charlie couldn't remember much from that point on, other than that he seemed to have lost the ability to say no, and every time someone touched him it was a like a direct path of energy to his groin. Then they'd used him, sometimes alone, sometimes together, with Lucius presiding over it all with the smug look of a lion on his face. He'd called a halt to proceedings briefly and then instructed that they should all use Charlie's mouth instead.

Charlie dry-heaved at the memory.

He had fallen in way, way too deep. It had gone too far. He had no idea how he was going to hide the bruises on his throat, wrists and ankles given that the heat only continued to rise and he would look idiotic wearing long sleeves and a high neck.

He forced himself to take some deep breaths and try and put an action plan together. He needed to wash and try and do something about the physical remnants of the night. Then he could sleep.

He was trying to drum up the energy to start when the kitchen burst into light.

“Shit.”  
“Charlie?”

Of all of them, it _would_ be his dad at that moment. The last person he wanted to see, the one whom he'd lied to so explicitly.

“Good god, Charlie, what's happened to you?”

He couldn't have answered if he'd wanted to. Something, perhaps the concern, in his dad's voice just made him break. His legs collapsed from under him and he landed painfully on the floor. He put his face in his hands and tried to hold in the tears which had flooded his eyes.

He jumped when a hand touched gently to his back.

“Don't!” He begged, much more loudly than he meant. He didn't want anyone to touch him.

There were gentle grunts of effort as his dad sat down next to him on the floor. Charlie didn't look up.

“Who... what...” his dad swallowed. “Do you want me to get your mother?”  
“No!” Charlie shook his head and to his embarrassment some tears flew off his face. “Don't. I don't want her to see me like this.”

“Tell me, then, Charlie. Tell me everything?”  
“You're going to hate me.”  
“You're my son. Hate doesn't come into it.”  
“I hate me.” Charlie sniffed. “Because I'm such a fucking idiot, Dad.”

The impending snot took over then, and Charlie hung his head until something was pushed into his vision – a tea towel, the nearest absorbent thing.

“I should have listened to you,” Charlie said bitterly, roughly scrubbing his face with the cloth.  
“About what?”

Charlie finally looked at him. He was upset watching Charlie be upset, with red eyes and a pale face and deep concern etched in the lines adorning his face.

“That Lucius Malfoy isn't a good person.”

* * *

I wasn't stupid enough to think that he loved me. He was always too clinical for that. But I suppose I hoped that he would come to love me, and that it would be more than just meeting up for sex. It never was.

'Too much, too young' is a phrase I never really believed in until that moment. I thought I was invincible. But that night irrevocably changed me. I'm not a victim, not in my mind – though my dad certainly thought so. I am just Charlie Weasley, the dragon keeper who never has time for a relationship.

People buy the dragon line. It's much easier to stomach than 'a man I put too much trust in let his friends rape me and turned me off sex, probably forever.'

I can't remember the last time I experienced sexual attraction to anybody. Or when I even wanted to share physical contact with someone. Luckily hiding in the mountains in Romania means this is rarely a problem.

Sometimes I wonder if I should have let my dad go absolutely insane and bring the accusations to the Wizengamot, like he wanted to. Because I was technically an adult at seventeen, I would have had to have brought the charges and at that point, all I wanted was to forget about Lucius Malfoy and his stupid blond hair and piercing eyes. I wanted to move on, finish school and get the fuck out of the country, away from them all. Away from my dad's angry and pitying eyes, my mother's 'I-can't-believe-you're-leaving-too' doe eyes, the adoring eyes of my siblings.

I keep myself to myself on purpose, and that's entirely on Lucius Malfoy.

My dad will have Malfoy one day. He's determined. He lets everyone else believe it's just the rivalry between two pureblood houses with very different ideals. The only people who know the reason why the hatred tripled are me, my dad and Lucius himself.

I hope it fucking stays that way. I need the past to stay in the past.

* * *

**August, 1998**

He'd been existing in a perpetual state of nausea since May, but Charlie thought it might have decided to peak as he sat high up in the Wizengamot Chamber. He was carefully hidden by a pillar, a well-thought out position he'd picked the last time he'd been there for another trial.

The only reason he'd been at _that_ trial, and others like them, was to pave the way for him being able to attend _this_ particular trial without raising eyebrows. Bill had been shooting him narrowed glances every time he returned from the Ministry, trying to figure out what he was up to, but Charlie was thankful that his older brother had thus far not opened his mouth to ask.

Since the Battle, lying to people had become a hell of a lot harder. His family had been decimated by Fred's death and those of close family friends. They were all so broken. Charlie found he couldn't give them anything but himself and to do that, he couldn't tell them he was leaving in a month or even two months.

_'Please don't go back to Romania, Charlie. Not yet.'_

He was the only person who knew about the return Portkey ticket stashed at the bottom of his bag. So when he had replied 'I'm not going anywhere' to his mother as she hugged him tightly and buried her face in his chest, that was when the nausea had really started to become a problem.

Sitting there, waiting for Lucius Malfoy's trial regarding his part during the war and his activities as a follower of Voldemort, he thought he might actually need a bucket.

He jumped when a clatter came from down on the floor and he found that the chamber had filled without his notice and they were calling for order. He leant forward and rested a shoulder against his protective pillar so he could get a better view. When he saw Lucius' white-blond hair his guts clenched. The man looked so far removed from what Charlie remembered. There was no bounce or pomp in the way he walked. His hair was clean but flat and lacklustre. He sported deep purple shadows beneath his eyes. He looked like hell.

Charlie stared at him and waited for the vicious thoughts to kick in. For the 'good riddance' and the 'fuck you' and everything else which had been in his mind over the eight years since that night when he'd learnt what it was to be forced against his will. But something very painful began to build in his chest instead.

It had been a momentous mistake to go. The chamber was packed and he had no chance of getting out unnoticed. Charlie heard his own breaths, rash and loud, as the rest of the crowd fell silent.

“Lucius Malfoy, you stand accused of the following.”

Charlie was on his feet, suddenly not caring at all whether he caused a spectacle or not. He muttered his apologies as he climbed past and half-tripped over pairs of legs on his way to the nearest exit; when he got there it was just crowded with more bodies. Everyone in the Ministry seemed to want to watch Lucius Malfoy's downfall.

Charlie thought it ironic that he, who probably had a strong reason to deserve to watch that moment, wanted to run and never look back.

“Please, just move,” he begged weakly to the crowd, who started to grumble.  
“Silence in the chamber!” Someone barked from below and Charlie glanced over his shoulder to see the entire room staring back at him.

He froze, blushing a horrific shade of red. As if he couldn't stop them – as if his brain was trying to finally do him in - his eyes slid to the centre of the room and for the first time in eight years locked eyes with the man who had abused him.

There was no smug smirk on Lucius' face. There was barely any reaction at all. Only a slight tinge of colour in an otherwise colourless pallor told Charlie that Lucius recognised him. Feeling as though someone had dumped a bucket of ice over his head, Charlie forced himself to look away.

“Get out of the way,” he demanded, and whether it was the grit in his tone or the look on his face, the group blocking the door parted, and Charlie barrelled out into the corridor.

***  
Charlie sat on an old rope swing and pushed himself back forth with one foot. The house was too full of noise – even when his family were bereaved, they were too much for him. He smoked some more of his cigarette, not caring if his mother happened look out of the kitchen window and see him. He was beyond caring.

Since legging it from the Ministry earlier that afternoon, he'd walked around London until he was completely lost. Then he'd apparated to Ottery St Catchpole and walked for miles in the lanes and fields surrounding the village. His feet had brought him back to The Burrow without being asked. He'd gone in, seen the look on his dad's face, eaten enough of dinner so as not to invoke the wrath of his mum and then swiftly departed again for the orchard.

He'd been there ever since, moping on the swing of his childhood days, smoking and saying nothing. The sun was starting to set and the trees of the orchard cast long shadows over the grass. Something nearby was rustling in a bush and he watched the shaking foliage.

A mouse darted out suddenly and on high pursuit came the suspect – the ginger tomcat that Charlie had saved in his first few weeks of work experience. He adored that cat, but it had never forgiven him for leaving for Romania and ever since relations between them had been icy, no matter how hard Charlie tried to persuade him otherwise.

It surprised him no end when the cat let the mouse go and instead chose to saunter over and rub against Charlie's legs with his tail in the air. Charlie had to steady the swing as the animal leapt into his lap and stared at him.

“What?” Charlie asked. “Forgiven me after all this time? Didn't think you had it in you.”

He reached out to scratch under the cat's chin, bracing himself for a bite or for claws to sink into his hand. Neither came and the cat simply purred and perched himself properly on Charlie's legs.

Large amber eyes gave him a slow blink. Despite how he felt, Charlie smiled.

Animals had the ability to make him smile when humans were making him feel like shit. He was always grateful for it, but the cat sitting in his lap felt like far more. As if it somehow knew it had been there for the moment which had been replaying in Charlie's head all day.

He often wondered what would have happened if he'd simply told Lucius Malfoy where to go on that first day in the Menagerie.

Both he and the cat jumped as footsteps crunched in their direction. The cat hissed and jumped off his lap with a parting sting of his claws cutting into Charlie's thighs. He took off in the direction of the shed and immediately Charlie felt lonely.

_Big whoop, what's new?_

Being around his family had made him feel lonelier than ever.

“I thought you could do with this?” Bill said quietly, handing over a bottle of cider. “I heard what happened today.”  
“Nothing happened today,” Charlie retorted automatically.

Bill gave him a look which made his skin prickle. He drank some cider for something to do.

“Do you know what hurts most?”  
“Eh?” Charlie frowned and struggled to swallow his mouthful.  
“That you never once even hinted to me that something had happened.”  
“What? What happened?”

Bill groaned and clenched his fists in the air between them.

“I know, Charlie.”  
“Know what?”  
“Will you just stop it? Stop with the lying!”  
“It's not lying! It's omission. And none of your business.”

Hurt sliced through his older brother’s expression. Charlie thought he might be sick.

“I’ve told you everything that's ever happened to me.” Bill folded his arms over his chest.  
“Whether I wanted you to or not,” Charlie pointed out. “I didn't need to know when you got your first blow job, but I did.”  
“It was a momentous occasion. I _had_ to tell you.” Bill rolled his eyes, clearly irritated. “But this... Charlie. This which explains so much and clearly ripped you apart? You didn't tell me. Trust me. I can't pretend any more that it doesn't hurt.”

With a sigh, Charlie got up off the swing. “I'm sorry, Bill. I don't know what to tell you. Just don't think for a second that I didn't _need_ you, because I fucking did, but you were in Egypt and Dad was _so_ angry. I just... I just buried it. Deep. I did need you. But I couldn't bring myself to admit I'd been so fucking stupid.”

He swallowed hard on a very thick throat. He didn't want to cry but it seemed inevitable.

“Did you love him?”  
“No. Thought I might though, one day.”  
“Shit.”  
“Yeah. How'd you find out?”

Bill blushed then and Charlie sighed. 

“One night during the war Dad and I got drunk over a bottle of Cousin Sammy's home brewed schnapps. And somehow the conversation turned to you... he was so angry. Saying things I've never heard him say. And he didn't tell me everything but he told me enough to put the pieces together. Why you've never come home for any length of time. Why you've never... been with anyone.”  
“I've been with people,” Charlie said defensively. It wasn't a lie, but it wasn't exactly the truth, either.

“And then today...” Bill passed him and took his place on the swing. He curled his fingers around the rope. “Ron told me what happened at the trial.”  
“Why does he think I did what I did?”  
“He just thinks you had enough and needed to get out. He's not suspicious. I told him nothing, just that we're all just doing the best we can. He's worried about you. They all are.”  
“Great. I'm worried about me too. We should form a group.”

He swigged back some more cider and shook his head ruefully. “I wanted to tell you.”  
“You fucking should have.”  
“There's a lot I should have done. A lot I shouldn't. I'm trying not to deal in 'should have', to be honest.”

Bill nodded. He reached out and put his hand on Charlie's arm and gave it a squeeze.

“He's in prison for at least fifteen years. Does that help at all?”

Charlie thought about it. “Nope. Not at all.”  
“The charges... did you hear them?”  
“No.”  
“You weren't... the only one.”

His breath seemed to desert him then. His legs felt weak.

“If I'd said something then... fuck.”

Bill squeezed his arm again. “Don't do this to yourself.”  
“I will,” Charlie said bitterly.

And he knew without a doubt that he would.

_-fin-_

**Author's Note:**

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